


There’s Bound To Be A Ghost At the Back of Your Closet

by thesaddestboner



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Supernatural, Detroit Tigers, F/M, Gen, Ghost Hunting, Ghosts, Implied Relationships, Minor Character Death, Non-Famous Family Members As Characters, Not!Fic, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 04:27:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesaddestboner/pseuds/thesaddestboner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Ghost hunting is a solitary life.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Mountain Goats’ “Up the Wolves.” Not really a _Supernatural_ AU. More of a supernatural AU.
> 
> I just wanted an excuse to write about Haren and Verlander as “teammates.”
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thesaddestboner) and [tumblr](http://saddestboner.tumblr.com).

Dan pops the trunk and lifts the corner of a tattered old blanket the color of dishwater left too long in the sink. He reaches past his black nylon duffel bag and the array of scuffed baseballs, past the faded green-and-yellow cap and a pair of cleats—to his revolver. He curls a callused palm around the sleek metal barrel of the gun, and pulls it out, slamming the trunk shut.

The sound reverberates in his ears like a gunshot.

A light breeze tangles its fingers loosely in Dan’s long brown hair; he knows it’s just the wind, but he tightens his grip on the gun anyway, out of sheer force of habit after living like ghosts are breathing down his back for so long.

He surveys the flat expanse of Arizona desert. Dan can’t see anything but sand, rocks, some spare sickly cactus, and an open stretch of road ahead of him.

Dan takes a step forward, sliding his finger onto the trigger, and something sharp and fragile shatters underneath the heel of his boot. Dan lifts his foot, kicks at the splintered glass.

“I know—” Dan clears his throat. “I know you’re here,” he says.

The wind whistles, and he feels its breath feathering across his cheek.

Dan advances. “Show yourself.”

Dan feels something brush across his throat, and he stills. The wind curls around him, weaves through his hair and down into the collar of his shirt.

“Show yourself, Maribel,” Dan repeats, lowering the gun.

An invisible hand clenches around his throat and Dan can feel—it, the apparition, what-the-fuck-ever pressing against his chest. It’s strong, Dan can feel its rage in the strength of its grip, and he struggles against it. He gets a mouthful of hair that’s not his own; it has the musty smell and taste of death, and Dan gags.

He can feel lips brush lightly against his cheek, and then there’s a whisper at his ear, deceptively sweet and childlike, ghost fingers still wrapped around his throat. “I want you, Danny.”

Dan curls an arm around her waist and presses the barrel of the gun into her side. He fires.

Lightning rips across the sky, splitting it into jagged halves. The ghost screams and the fingers around his throat immediately let go. He can see her now, illuminated by the streaks of lightning in the sky. She presses a hand to her side and staggers back. Dan raises the gun and cocks it, bullet sliding into place.

“I’m warning you,” Dan calls out, advancing on her, holding the gun in shaking hands. “Let go.”

Dan can see a bloom of blood growing under her hand, staining her graying white gown. She raises her head to meet his eyes.

Dan fires a second time and the bullet rips through her chest. The apparition bursts in an explosion of light, and Dan can smell a hint of sulfur on the air. He lowers the gun and slides it into the leather holster at his hip. There’s nothing there but a black smudge on the street where she’d been standing only minutes before.

Dan glances back at the car and laughs. “You can come out now,” he calls out. “It’s all over. It’s safe now.”

The passenger’s door opens slowly, as if the kid is testing the veracity of Dan’s statement, and he steps carefully onto the side of the road. He digs his feet in the gravel before shutting the door behind him and approaching Dan. His movements are cautious, calculated, as if he’s worried she’ll come back.

The kid crosses his arms over his chest and angles his hip, looking down at the black mark on the road. “So, she’s really gone?” he asks.

Dan nods, reaching out to clip the kid on the shoulder. “She’s gone. You did good, Justin. Think you’re up to handling the gun yourself next time?”

Justin shakes his head, eyes still locked on the black smudge. “How’d you know that’d get rid of her anyway? I thought you couldn’t, you know, shoot ghosts since they’re already dead.”

Dan grins and reaches into the pocket of his trench coat. There’s the sound of metal on metal, and he pulls out a small white box with a black cross on it. “Special bullets for special circumstances, kid.” 

Justin just rolls his eyes and turns to head back to the car.

Dan slides the box back into his pocket and steps up behind him, looping his arm loosely around Justin’s shoulders. “I think we ought to treat ourselves to a beer. What do you think?” he asks, as they start back for Dan’s black Mustang.

“Thinkin’ that sounds like a good idea.” Justin reaches into the pocket of Dan’s jeans and snags the keys. “I’ll drive. Don’t trust you not to get us into a car accident.” Justin pauses, casting a smirk Dan’s way. “Then someone’ll be huntin’ _us_ and not the other way around.”

Dan chuckles and opens the car door, sliding into the passenger’s seat. “I think I can live with that.”

-

“So, how’d you get into the business of huntin’?” Justin thunks a couple beers and a glass dish of limes on the slick, wet table top, along with a stack of napkins.

Dan leans back in his seat and picks up one of the bottles and a wedge of lime. He pushes the wedge of lime into the open mouth of the bottle with his thumb and turns it upside down. Dan tracks the movement of a million tiny bubbles with his eyes before turning them on Justin. “Everyone has a natural talent for something.” He sips the bottle right side up and takes a sip. “Mine just so happens to be killing.”

The sound of fractured laughter hits Dan’s ears and he raises his head. A small army of drunks in sleeveless flannel shirts and accordioned trucker caps are playing darts in the corner, whispering amongst themselves and gesturing to a couple of large-breasted women in painted-on clothing. Dan turns his attention back to his beer and takes a long swill.

“You, like, grew up doin’ this stuff?” Justin asks, picking at the label on his bottle.

“You could say that.” Dan sets his bottle down and swipes the back of his hand across his mouth.

“You must’ve had some sort of fucked up childhood,” Justin says, corner of his mouth ticking up in a faint smirk.

“Not necessarily.” Dan looks back at the group of rednecks and fingers the lip of his bottle. “Not everything’s gloom and doom, y’know? I grew up in a happy family, my parents didn’t get divorced, I still have a close relationship with my sister. There’re no skeletons in my closet.” Dan pauses. “I should ask you the same question—why’d _you_ get into it?”

Justin ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck, shifting self-consciously in his seat. “I grew up lovin’ _Ghostbusters_ more’n anything. So, I guess I just wanted to see if it was like that.”

“This isn’t _Ghostbusters_ , kid,” Dan says, pointing his bottle at Justin.

“I know that. And I ain’t a kid.” Justin takes an angry swig of beer, as if to prove a point.

Dan smiles, raises his bottle to take a drink. “Then stop acting like one.”

“Fuck you,” Justin snaps, sitting back in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest. “I may be younger than you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t, like, _know_ shit.”

“Chill, Verlander. I’m just teasing you.” Dan finishes off his beer and licks the beer off his bottom lip. “You can’t handle a little teasing, this isn’t the job for you.”

“I can handle a little teasin’,” Justin grumbles under his breath.

Dan traces his fingers in a wet spot on the table top, left behind by his dewy bottle of beer. A sign fluttering slightly over an empty stage proudly declares ‘TONIGHT IS KARAOKE NIGHT’ in big, colorful bubble letters. An attractive brunette in blue jean cut-offs and a red bandana passing as a halter top totters onto the stage. She grabs a microphone—and Justin’s undivided attention—and Dan can’t help but laugh. 

The brunette breaks into a warbling version of Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody,” and Justin turns his attention back to his beer and Dan. 

“It was nice while it lasted,” Justin says, taking a sip.

“Not a Queen fan?” Dan asks.

“Not a fan of chicks who don’t know how to sing Queen,” Justin says.

“Well, a man’s got to have standards.” Dan finishes off his beer and flags down a waitress for another. “I wouldn’t get too attached to anyone if I were you. Just a suggestion.”

Justin raises his head and looks at Dan, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “How come?”

“The job doesn’t really allow for too many long-term relationships,” Dan says, picking up a sugar packet and turning it in his long fingers. He focuses squarely on the pink sugar packet.

Justin snags the packet away and Dan looks up sharply, meeting Justin’s gaze for the first time all night. “What is it,” Justin asks, forcing Dan’s reaching fingers away from the sugar packet.

“What do you mean?” Dan grabs for the sugar packet, for something to occupy his hands but Justin tucks it safely back into the container of them and moves it out of Dan’s reach.

“I mean, you got weird all of a sudden,” Justin says. “Like there’s something you ain’t tellin’ me.”

Dan slumps back in his seat, closing his fingers around his beer but not taking a sip. “Doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does.” Justin flicks his gaze back at the brunette, who’s still hanging onto the mic, fanning herself with a menu. Dan follows Justin’s line of sight and lets out a tiny sigh before he can help himself. Justin reaches out and lays his fingers lightly over Dan’s. “Dan?”

Dan twists his hand away from Justin’s. “It’s a long story, and I don’t want to get into it right now,” he says.

“Well, all right, if that’s how you want it,” Justin says, shrugging. He glances back at the brunette and offers her a one-sided smirk. The girl giggles and hides her face behind her menu.

“It is.” Dan raises his ass off his seat and pulls out his wallet, flipping it open.

“Don’t worry ’bout it, man, I got this taken care of.” Justin flashes a shiny, plastic credit cart in front of Dan’s face. “You can get the tip if you want.”

Dan sets the wallet on the table top without a word and Justin glances down at it, furrowing his brow.

A wallet-sized photograph is peeking out amongst the receipt slips and Justin plucks it free. Dan has his arms around a smiling brunette that looks a lot like the flirtatious karaoke girl. Both Dan and the brunette have wedding bands on, and smiles to match.

“What—is this your wife, man?” Justin raises his head, offering Dan a smile. “She’s pretty hot.”

Dan takes the photo from Justin, tucks it back into the wallet and closes it, sliding it back into his pocket. “She’s dead.”

“Oh, shit! Shit, man, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” Justin looks horrified. “Jesus, man, I’m sorry.”

“ _She’s_ why I am what I am,” Dan says, tone so quiet and low and Justin has to lean across the table to hear him.

“Y-you,” Justin begins, faltering. He makes a second attempt. “You’re looking for her, right? All these ghosts—you’re looking for your wife.” Justin’s voice has the sound of hushed reverence.

Dan nods slightly, lifting his eyes from the wallet to meet Justin’s unwavering gaze. “Haven’t found her yet.”

Justin licks his lips and Dan can hear and audible click as he swallows, fumbling for words. After a few deafening, very long seconds of silence, Justin clears his throat and tries again. “What was her name?” he asks.

“Jessica,” Dan murmurs. “She was a couple months pregnant with our first child.” He draws in his breath with an audible click. “Would’ve called him Rhett if he was a boy.”

Justin drags his hands down over his face. “Christ. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.” Dan begins to pick at the label on his beer bottle. “Don’t really talk about it too much.”

“I can see why.” Justin fiddles with his bottle, avoiding meeting Dan’s eyes.

Dan coughs, a wet and raspy sound, and Justin glances back at him. “Let’s pay the bill and get the hell out of here, okay?” Dan offers him a tight-lipped smile.

Justin smiles back and nods, setting his card down. “Sounds good to me.”

-

They hop in the car, leaving behind the cheesy karaoke bar and a generous tip, and Dan guns the gas, tires squealing and kicking up dust. The car seems almost as eager as the two of them to get the hell out of that place. 

The wind, thick with grit and secrets, ratchets through their hair and stings their eyes. Dan turns up the stereo until his ears throb and he can feel the bass pounding in his chest along with his heartbeat. It’s moments like this, the grit that makes his eyes water, the percussive beat of the music in his chest that reminds him he’s alive. Everybody needs a little reminding sometimes, especially someone who has the kind of job he has.

Justin pins fluttering newspapers, maps and sheets of loose-leaf paper bearing his nearly unreadable chicken-scratch to his thighs with his hands, and tries to yell over the pounding bass and the roar of the engine as the car rumbles down the open, winding stretch of highway. 

“There was an unexplained death in Boulder,” Justin shouts. “Fifteen-year-old kid drowned—in the shallow end of the pool at the motel his family was staying at. Kid was a pretty good swimmer, on his high school’s diving team.”

Dan turns the music down, mercifully, and glances briefly Justin’s way. “We’re not heading to Boulder,” he says.

“The fuck do you _mean_ we’re not heading to Boulder? This case is just screaming supernatural,” Justin says, screwing his face up in distaste. “It’d be wrong of us not to check it out, at least.”

“We’re going to San Francisco,” Dan says.

“San Francisco? What could possibly be in San Francisco that’s more important than a job?” Justin asks.

Dan says nothing. He just turns the music back up. Justin sighs heavily and tucks the collection of papers in the glove box, slumping back in his seat with a bone-weary thump. They’re surrounded on either side by the highway, and it snakes in front of them, grim, gray and unending. 

Justin closes his eyes and allows the steady thrum of the car’s engine lull him into a light, restless sleep.

-

Dan noses the car into the lot of the first motel he sees. It’s like the place was dropped right there in the parking lot out of a bad film noir, complete with flickering vacancy sign and one, maybe two cars in front.

Dan kills the engine and leans over to tap Justin on the shoulder, rousing him from his nap. Justin shifts and stretches, groaning and rubbing his fists over his eyes.

“San Fran already?” Justin groans, squinting up at the flickering neon sign looming over the car.

“Boulder,” Dan says and gets out of the car, kicking the door shut.

Justin smiles slowly and follows him into the motel. The receptionist, a pretty Asian girl with a yellowed nametag that reads **Emily** pinned to the strap of her barely-there white tank top, looks up from an apparently engrossing copy of  The National Enquirer. Her eyes widen in almost comical shock, like she can hardly believe people have actually come to rent a room. 

Justin smiles at her, a flash of brilliant white teeth. “Hey there—” He squints at the nametag, gets an eyeful of cleavage before returning his gaze to her face. “—Emily. My name’s Justin, and this here’s my buddy, Dan. We’re lookin’ to rent a room for the night.”

Emily’s eyebrows shoot up in unison, but she begins clicking away at a keyboard. “Would you fellas like the Honeymoon Suite? We cut the price in half if you’re, uh, newlyweds.”

Justin and Dan lock eyes, blink.

Dan recovers first. “Oh, we’re not _together_ , we’re, uh, we’re brothers. Two queens is fine.” He flashes Emily a twitchy smile.

“Oh. _Oh_. I’m sorry. I just assumed.” Emily smiles at them shyly, Justin especially, and ducks her head. “Two good-lookin’ young guys come in and ask for a room, you never know these days.”

Justin just gives her a salacious wink and Dan rolls his eyes.

“Well, now that that’s all taken care of . . .” Emily slides plastic key cards across the shiny speckled Formica countertop to them.

Dan snags his card and nods to her, offering her a smile. “Thanks.” He tips the key card to her and she giggles.

“See ya ‘round, Emily.” Justin grins at her and the girl flushes modestly, pressing a hand over her chest.

When the girl is finally out of sight and they’ve rounded the corner, Dan slugs Justin in the shoulder lightly.

“What?” Justin grumbles, pocketing his key card.

“You were totally hitting on that girl,” Dan says.

“Was not.” Justin isn’t even trying to act like he isn’t lying now, eyes sparkling and the corner of his mouth twisted into a sharply angled smirk.

Dan gets out his key card and slashes it through the lock. The door opens with a hitch, soft like a sigh. Dan drops his ragged duffel bag on the first bed and flops down next to it, groaning with pleasure as he sinks deeply into the mattress.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Their crisp white jerseys are neatly ironed and pressed and their navy socks are all high._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It got a little too _Field of Dreams_ -y for me, so I never finished it.

The tiny specks of light Justin had been quick to dismiss as distant headlights begin to swarm over the field. The night air buzzes with electricity and both men look up, turn their heads to the direction of the sound.

“—Bees?” Justin supplies with a not-so-helpful shrug.

“No. Wait, listen. Do you hear that?” Dan raises a hand to silence Justin.

The fireflies— _whatever_ they are—begin to knit themselves together, and the glow of their light intensifies along with the sound. The noise almost sounds like—like the hum of a crowd, but Dan can’t see anyone else in the abandoned field. Dan and Justin both watch the scene unfolding before them, riveted.

A blue wall resurrects itself from the dust and patches of scraggly grass, and tall poles materialize out of thin air. A blue roof unfurls in place over the poles, and Dan realizes that the fireflies aren’t really fireflies—they’re light standards. 

The hum grows to a low roar.

The mound of dirt that Justin had tripped over rises from the ground and a slab of white rubber unrolls itself, fixing itself place. The small, sickly patch of grass starts spreading out wide, like it’s opening its arms to them, until it just stops, held neatly in place by twin lines of white chalk dust.

“What _is_ this place?” Justin asks, reverent and hushed.

Dan turns to look at Justin, eyes open wide. “It’s—I think it’s hallowed ground.”

A sharp, angry voice jolts them, sending them whirling. “Whaddaya think you’re doin’?” 

A small, thin man emerges from shadows that quickly resolve themselves into a dugout. His footsteps are light but deliberate, as he marches purposefully toward them. The man has on a navy warmup jacket and white pants, and shoes with metal spikes. Dan and Justin share a _look_ and take one step backward.

“ _Well_?” The man stops before them and puts his hands on his hips, fixing them both with a steely glare. “Asked you two a question. I expect an answer. What the hell’re you two doin’ here?”

Justin steps forward. “We got lost,” he says, offering the man an apologetic smile. “Could you tell us how to get back to the Fisher freeway?”

“You ain’t lost,” the man grunts. His voice is rough and gravelly, surprisingly low and deep for such a small man. His thin, yellowing mustache twitches in what Dan suspects is the hint of a smile. “You’re here for a reason.”

“Uh, we have no idea why we’re here. We don’t even know what this place—” Justin waves his hand in the air vaguely. “—is. I’ve never seen it before in my life.”

The old man snorts, reaching back to pull out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. “You stopped to get your head outta your ass for once, you’d’ve figured it out by now,” he grunts. He pulls a cigarette out of the pack and clamps it between his lips. “You got a light?”

Justin shrugs and shakes his head.

“Well, my name’s Jim,” the man says, jerking his thumb back toward the dugout. “And that’s my team.”

Justin and Dan both look to where the man is pointing. An army of young, athletic looking men in white uniforms file into the dugout. One of the players steps forward and raises his cap to them.

“Jim’s told us _all_ about you two.” He extends his hand and Dan accepts it, squeezing. “You’re Dan.”

He nods slowly. “Yeah. That’s right. Who are you?”

“William Wattison Horton. Most people call me Willie.” He steps back In line.

Dan looks at Jim, raising his eyebrows in question. “You’re—you’re a baseball team.”

Jim snorts. “Hello, Captain Obvious. Thanks so much for joining us in the twenty-first century. We’re _the_ baseball team, kid. Only game in town. This’s our home you stumbled on.”

“What do they call this place?” Dan asks.

“She’s known as Tiger Stadium these days, but she’s had many names. This’s just the one that stuck.” 

More men in white uniforms start emerging—some from the shadows of the dugout and some from the, well, shadows. All of them are young and fresh-faced. Their crisp white jerseys are neatly ironed and pressed and their navy socks are all high.

**Author's Note:**

> The author of this piece intends no insult, slander, or copyright infringement, and is not profiting from this work. This story is a complete work of fiction and does not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. This is for entertainment purposes only. If you found this story while Googling your name or the names of your friends, hit the back button now.


End file.
